The Storming of Fort Sungard
by big cheddars
Summary: An Imperial Legion Century are tasked with clearing the forsworn from Fort Sungard. But their Centurion has a darker fate in store for the traitors. Short story. Complete. Please read and review. First Elder Scrolls fanfic!


**The storming of Fort Sungard**

The first blood went to the forsworn. Roggvar didn't know him well, but he knew his name. As the charge up the hill began, Roggvar heard a hiss, and then a shriek that was abruptly cut short. He almost checked his pace, but sped up as he ran past the form of Stantus, lying flat on his back with an arrow protruding from his neck. Stantus was near death, flopping his arms around vainly as his mouth and chest bubbled blood.

More arrows came whizzing down from the ramparts, and an unfortunate legionnaire caught one in the eye. He went down howling, and the flow of men split around his writhing body. The forsworn were silhouetted on the stone walls, with the sun behind them. Roggvar looked up as he ran, and despite the glare saw horrors he had never imagined. Beastmen. Human shapes clasping bows, but they had antlers, and horns. Roggvar looked back down, he could see the gateway through the bodies in front of him. His arms pumped, he had to get there, to get past the arrows and into the fight. His feet pounded on the short grass, and his feet were already aching from the hard touch of the solid, baked soil.

Centurion Honthjolf led the charge, sword held high, armour gleaming, he ran the gauntlet of fire with seeming ease. His chosen men followed him, a mix of Nords and Imperials, ranging in size. Roggvar was ten paces behind his uncle, and he could feel his battlelust rising as he neared his first battle. Reberio was beside him, the huge Imperial bellowing as he ran, his voice mingling with the war cries of the Century, the forsworn and the cries of the wounded.

An imposing arch marked the entrance of Fort Sungard. The gate was long gone, rotted away centuries ago, but the arch remained. Six feet thick, and twenty metres high, it towered above the legionnaires as they rushed the fort. Roggvar kept running, following Honthjolf through the gateway and into the tunnel beyond it. As Honthjolf and his lead men emerged out the other side, more arrows streaked down, bringing with them the noise of death. Arentus, took one through the shoulder, and the impact dragged the veteran Imperial down to his knees. His sword dropped from his now useless right hand, and the Imperial staggered forwards. Honthjolf turned and dragged Arentus back up with a call of, "Not now, old friend." and Arentus drew a curved dagger from a sheath at his belt and continued forwards.

More of the Century pounded through the archways, and more men were felled by the forked points of the forsworn arrows. The forsworn were lining the inside fort, just beyond the archway, and punishing the legionnaires ruthlessly for their headlong charge. Honthjolf, though, seemed charmed by the Gods, and remained unhit. The Centurion reached the end of the killing passage without a scratch. Roggvar sprinted behind him, his lungs were burning now, but every man in the Century knew they had to get close to the forsworn before they could carry out their orders.

Honthjolf reached some crumbling steps at the end of the passage and jumped them two at a time. He turned right, towards a cluster of forsworn warriors, and roared his warcry as he ploughed into them. The battle was truly joined now. Several men followed the Centurion, but Arentus, Roggvar and Reberio turned left, hoping to trap the forsworn archers.

The legionnaires were in the fort, but the forsworn were spread thinly and arrows still rained down, piercing chainmail and leather and giving the Century's healer a harder time. Arentus led a charge on the archers, running along the side of the killing passage where several were clustered. "Kill them, for the Emperor!" With his warcry, Arentus plunged into the first forsworn, swiping a bow aside and shoving him down. Even with one arm useless, the Imperial was a fearsome warrior. Reberio followed him, sword and shield covering Arentus's flank. Roggvar followed him, sword held out in front, imitating stances taught to him in training.

The walkway was about three metres wide, enough for several men to stand side by side. But you wouldn't want to, Roggvar noticed, as on one side the walkway led onto an open drop down the stony cliff and on the other was a drop down into the killing passage. Six forsworn faced the legionnaires, antlered, horned beastmen cavorting and writhing in the joy of battle. Roggvar was repelled, these creatures offended every aspect of what made the Empire great. They were lawless, honourless, vile savages. The two fighting groups clashed, Arentus and Reberio fighting with their own opponents, whilst Roggvar and several other legionnaires fought the rest.

Roggvar brought his sword up, and deflected a wild blow from a small forsworn with a face covered vulgar tattoos. He spaced his feet, sword held forward, words from his training Centurion echoing in his mind. The forsworn swung its blade, an ugly length of wood covered in spikes and jagged pieces of metal, and the crude blade hit his sword. Roggvar swept the blade round, parrying the forsworn, and forcing it onto its back foot. The forsworn spun, swiping the air in jagged sweeps and making Roggvar duck. The Nord snarled in anger, this traitor had no finesse, it wasn't respecting the rights of a duel, it was fighting like a barbaric savage

Roggvar shifted his feet, this forsworn must be taught a lesson in swordplay! He parried another wild strike, smashed the sword to the side and lunged. His blade pierced the forsworn's shoulder, drawing dark red blood. Over the screams and cries of the battle, Roggvar heard a sharp intake of breath and a snarl from the forsworn. Pressing his advantage, he attacked again, and the forsworn barely parried his questing blade.

The joy of battle was alight in Roggvar, and he bulled forwards, using his weight as he had been taught, putting his opponent off-balance. The forsworn staggered, throwing a wild strike towards Roggvar. The Nord turned his blade, blocking the crude blade and throwing it aside. The forsworn was pushed back, blood pouring from the deep cut in its shoulder. Roggvar grinned in triumph. The forsworn was desperately close to the open edge of the walkway, and Roggvar, his blood up, aimed a slash at chest height towards the forsworn.

The forsworn moved back to avoid his sweep, and its feet found no purchase on the stone. Its arms flailed, and Roggvar, seeing what he had done, reached out desperately. A shrill scream burst from the forsworn's mouth, and it tumbled backwards into the open air. Roggvar missed its arm, but his arm caught the antlers on his head as it fell. To his horror, the antlers and deerskin came off, it was a headdress. For a brief second, Roggvar looked into the eyes of a woman, and he saw fear.

The woman fell backwards, her limbs flailing in the air, looking desperate. Roggvar was transfixed, and he watched as she fell down far, down onto the rocks below. Her body shattered as she hit the ground, blood seemingly erupting from it. Roggvar closed his eyes, and the imprint of that small, battered form stayed there. He pulled back from the edge, his sword held limply by his side.

He looked around, face aghast, his first kill had been a woman! A forsworn yes, but still a woman. The legionnaires had defeated the forsworn, leaving them unconscious or on the ground nursing wounds. Reberio was nearby, standing over his last enemy with a bloodied sword, looking at Roggvar with what seemed like approval. The Imperial, Roggvar's close friend, was a veteran of several battles, unlike Roggvar.

Arentus and the others were gone, moving around the fort, leaving bloodied forsworn or unconscious forms. Honthjolf's orders had been to take the forsworn alive, to teach them a lesson for defying the Empire. Screams still sounded, but less frequently as seasoned legionnaires smashed through forsworn weapons and put them down. The moaning of the wounded was the most prevalent sound, and it mixed with the stench of blood and sweat, Roggvar barely noticed the smell, wrapped up in his thoughts as he was. Reberio clattered over, armour rattling in the breeze.

"Your first kill, my friend?" The Imperial's face, weathered prematurely at the age of twenty, was creased in a sad smile. "Don't worry, your uncle will be proud, you have gained your first honours in battle." Reberio clapped the stricken Nord on the shoulder happily.

"It was a woman, there is no honour in such a kill. I have shamed myself and my family."

"A woman, eh? You forget, young one, that these are traitors to the Emperor. They are worthy of no compassion or mercy. They shame themselves by letting women fight their battles. Think nothing of it."

Roggvar turned to the Imperial, "You have a strange code of honour, Reberio, but you have settled my feelings."

"Good, I am glad, little one." Reberio grinned again.

Roggvar turned to him. And his eyes widened in horror. "Reberio, look out!"

A forsworn was moving towards the armoured Imperial. His headdress was gone, and a violent purple bruise adorned his forehead. Drawing a crude spiked piece of sharpened wood, he jumped up and stabbed Reberio in the back of the neck. Reberio gasped as the forsworn withdrew his dagger, and gave Roggvar a pleading look as he fell to the ground, his legs giving way.

Roggvar yelled in anger. His first battle, and his closest friend was injured! With a roar of incomprehensible rage he charged forwards, raising his keen sword and questing for the forsworn's throat. The forsworn's leering grin of triumph turned to despair as he frantically parried the Nord's swings. Roggvar lunged, slashed and hacked, all finesse forgotten in his anger. Instead, he relied on momentum and strength and a superior weapon to bash through the forsworn's defence.

The savage staggered backwards, and his booted foot caught in a rough flagstone. He tripped and yelled, falling backwards. His dagger slipped from his hand and Roggvar kicked it away. He advanced on the fallen forsworn, breathing heavily. The man's tattoos contorted as he shouted curses at Roggvar. His eyes spoke of defiance.

"Silence, traitor!" Roggvar yelled as he put his sword to the man's throat. His lips were drawn back, his heart was beating, and blood was roaring in his ears. He wanted so much to spike this man, to drive his blade into the wretch's chest, end his disgusting existence and cleanse the Reach of one more forsworn traitor.

Every story he had heard about the forsworn flashed through his mind. Whispered tales late at night in inns. Myths spoken around campfires to frighten people. They were the madmen of the Reach. Heretics and traitors that worshipped witches and beast-gods.

"Do it, nephew. End his life. It means nothing to the Divines. The forsworn sacrificed their right to Sovngarde when they betrayed Skyrim." The harsh voice of Centurion Honthjolf cut the air. Roggvar raised his eyes to find his uncle, armour soaking in blood, standing in front of him.

"No, that is not true! The Reach belongs to the forsworn. There will come a day when the Nords will bow to us!" Roggvar cut short the forsworn's cries with a sudden thrust. The man gargled as blood filled his mouth, and his eyes glazed over as life left his body.

"The forsworn will never rule the Reach. A Nord would never bow to an enemy." Roggvar intoned quietly. He withdrew his sword, and threw it to the ground. Ignoring his uncle and the rest of the Century, who were gathering by Honthjolf with their prisoners, he rushed over to Reberio.

Roggvar rolled Reberio's huge form over, expecting the Imperial to be smiling at him and saying it was just a scratch. Tears rolled from his eyes as he saw the empty gaze, the lolling head. His friend was dead, gone to Sovngarde with the rest of the great warriors. Roggvar silently intoned a prayer for his soul, then attempted to steel himself. He rose, and turned to look at the fort.

Bodies covered the walkway he stood on, mostly the brown skin and armour of the forsworn, but the red tones of legionary armour was there too. Turning, Roggvar surveyed the main courtyard of the fort. The forsworn were being gathered together in a huddle by the Century, many sporting serious injuries. Few forsworn were actually dead, but now Honthjolf could show the other bands of forsworn infesting the Reach what became of those who defied the Emperor.

The Centurion stood proudly, armour no longer glinting, but a satisfied expression on his face at his victory. Roggvar marched to him, feet falling heavily upon the ground. He heard Princep Saprius, his uncle's second-in-command, informing Honthjolf of the casualties as he drew near. "Ten wounded, three critically, sir, and four dead. Reberio, Stantus, Valgus and Tobias. Tekla thinks she can save the wounded, but Saerlund might lose his arm, and Itar will be blind in one eye.."

"Fine men that should not have been lost to these bastards! What prisoners do we have?"

"Twenty six, Centurion. Thirteen men, ten women and three children. Their fate, sir?"

"There is a platform on the west side of the fort which overlooks the mountain road. Saprius, use whatever men you think hard enough to carry out these orders. There are four large pillars, and a stone trough which would easily house a fire. Make an example of them, one that anyone on the road will see." Saprius turned with a nod, but Honthjolf called to him again, a stern look on his face. "Princep, make some of them suffer. For a long time."

"It will be done." Saprius saluted and marched off, calling to several men, his voice deliberately hard, set against the barbarity of his task.

Honthjolf turned to Roggvar, his expression suddenly one of fatherly kindness. Are you alright, nephew? It was a hard fight for you, Arentus told me."

"You urged me to kill him, yet your orders were to take prisoners. Why?"

"Because I wanted you to learn to kill today, nephew. You are my only remaining family, I need to know you know how to survive in this world. I wanted you to act upon the anger you felt at Reberio's death. I would have given you the chance to execute him had you let the savage live. In ending him, you brought honour upon yourself and Reberio." Honthjolf led Roggvar to the edge of the walkway, and gestured towards the hills of the Reach, laid out below them. "We fight the forsworn to protect this noble land, nephew. Traitors such as them deserve no respect or honour. It is our duty to cleanse them from this beautiful land. Do you understand my reasons now?"

Roggvar felt the heavy hand of his uncle upon his shoulder, and as he shaded his eyes in the face of the setting sun. The land looked suddenly like a sea of amber, and the sound of birds on the air and the smell of mountain plants, so different from that of the battle, filled his nostrils. And ears The wind blew past him, and goosebumps rose on his arms. Roggvar's eyes saw the beauty of Skyrim, and he realised the truth in his uncle's words. "Aye, uncle, I understand. We fight them to protect this land, and I see now that it is worth protecting. I will fight on, in Reberio's memory. No pity, or mercy to the forsworn. I will kill them! they don't deserve to live, they're savages, And murderers!."

Roggvar's heart hardened as he made his pledge, and the first screams sounded in the evening air as the forsworn prisoners faced their fate. Roggvar thought to the woman whose body lay on the rocks. And to think that at the start of the battle he would have saved her. He sneered as the image of her desperate face flashed before his eyes again.

"I will fight uncle, just lead me to them."

Honthjolf patted his newphews shoulder and strode off without a word, leaving Roggvar to gaze at the land he had sworn to protect.

A/N: This story was co-authored with a friend of mine over one weekend. He provided some ideas, and let me have a good look around Fort Sungard. His idea about the platform with the four big pillars on was absolutely brilliant, and it wouldn't be in there otherwise (it really does overlook the road, so the idea of forsworn corpses sending a message of the Empire's might to any travellers is inspired). So credit to him. If there are any typos, then I'm a blind son of a bitch. This is my first Skyrim (and TES in general) fanfic, and I'm quite proud of it. I haven't looked at much of the TES fanfiction on , but most of it seems to be incomplete stuff, so I'm proud to be adding a completed short sotry. Hope you enjoyed, and please review if and tell me if I made any mistakes, haven't had much contact with the legion in the game.


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